


Most Important Meal of the Day

by queenallie03



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-25
Updated: 2014-04-25
Packaged: 2018-01-20 18:57:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1521950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenallie03/pseuds/queenallie03
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean ends up spending the night at Cas' apartment, and to show his appreciation for taking him in and not letting him spend a difficult night alone, Dean decides to make him breakfast. A couple things try to screw with the plan, but Dean Winchester is nothing, if not an adaptable man.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Most Important Meal of the Day

**Author's Note:**

> askparadiseair is a Supernatural Pilot!AU blog (http://askparadiseair.tumblr.com/) that I love (think Cabin Pressure and that awesome 90’s sitcom Wings) by the talented thimblings (it’s her birthday so this is a meager present, but go follow APA as a gift to you and her).  
> The most recent update had a lovely little Destiel moment, and I had been itching to write again, and it just jumped up and bit me, so I had to drabble. Mind it is unbeta-ed and it’s been a bit since I’ve last picked up my pen, but if it gets more people to love this little AU, my job is done. Thanks for the lovely art and stories you share with us thimblings!

          Dean liked to think the Navy taught him many things, one of the most useful being that his body is still adapted to waking up at a specific time every day. As much as he enjoyed his time in the service, there were parts he hated, and waking up was the worst; Reveille was not designed to grant sailors happy mornings, so Dean trained himself to wake up just a little bit earlier so he could actually enjoy the act of waking up.

           Now that he was out he would always wake up before 6am, annoying on his days off, and he would still set an alarm for every work day, but somehow, no matter what time he set it for, he always managed to wake up a good half hour before his alarm was set to go off.

           It was that fact that found Dean slowly brushing consciousness somewhere north of 5, and his immediate reaction was to just let himself relax back into a light snooze, knowing his alarm would go off for work in due time. He decided to be vaguely responsible and at least see how much time he had left, so he opened his eyes to look at the clock next to his bed, and instead saw a floor lamp. And beyond that a kitchen table that had probably seen better decades. What?

           _Cas. Kissing. Risa. Shower. Sofa bed. Oh God._

His immediate reaction was to curl into the smallest ball physically possible, _no, fuck physics, must go smaller_ , when he realized he wasn't moving. There was resistance. He was being used as a giant human teddy bear.

           Somehow, even though it looked and felt as if he hadn’t moved the whole night, Cas had form fitted himself along Dean’s back, managing to sneak his right arm under Dean’s ribs, he could feel the whole of the arm as it wound around his stomach, all five fingers where they dug lightly into his hipbone. Their left hands were probably only a few inches away from being laced together.

           He could feel Cas’ eyelashes fluttering on the back of his neck, just over a small line of scar tissue that he’d always hated for being so close to being seen over shirt collars, could hear the soft snores as Cas breathed in and out, would swear he could feel a second heartbeat through two thin pieces of fabric.

           He was in heaven.

           He had to leave right now, every cell screaming to run for the hills. He never wanted to move again. Wanted to slide his hand down the scant inches and fit those long, slender fingers through his.

            It wasn’t until his lungs started to burn that he even realized he was holding his breath. _Nut up Winchester_ , he berated himself noticing he was just starting to shake. _You are not a 12 year old girl_.

           His experience with the island’s tourists made it easy for him to move Cas’ arms off of him and slide off the bed without disturbing the shitty springs.

           _Take that TempurPedic._

           Only, now, he was left standing in the - he was slowly beginning to become increasingly aware - really shitty apartment of the guy he was pretty sure he was a bit gone on. Okay, pretty far gone on. Okay, he really needed to stop stalker watching the man sleeping.

           The microwave in the kitchen read 4:42 so Dean pulled his phone out from under the pillow to check. _Close enough_ , he thought as he turned off his alarm. He didn’t want to wake Cas up so early, especially when he had never seen the pilot get to work any earlier than 7.

           He didn’t want to just leave without saying thanks this morning. Didn’t want to wake Cas up, say thanks and run either. Dean started to nervously bounce on the balls of his feet, something to do…

           Casting his eyes around the apartment, seriously he was pretty sure starving artists in NYC had better digs than this, he saw the box of cereal Cas had been eating for dinner sitting on the counter next to what he assumed was the pantry.

           Breakfast. He could do breakfast. Dean felt his cheeks flush slightly as he suddenly remembered why he had initially come over. Right. Not a thanks-for-sex breakfast. A thanks-for-no-sex breakfast. A thanks-for-watching-me-cry-and-not-really-talk-about-my-shitty-life breakfast. A thanks-for-not-asking-too-much-and-being-really-nice-but-probably-still-a-jerk breakfast. This might be starting to get away from him. He needs to just focus on making a breakfast as a nice act for Cas’ nice act. There. Better.

           Dean moved into the kitchenette area to see what he had to work with. Fridge: Empty. Like, cleaned because I’m just about to move out, empty. Okay… Freezer: Ice from the ice machine and a very freezer burnt gallon of Neapolitan ice cream with the strawberry portion completely eaten. What?

           So the pantry was the last chance. It was much better stocked in comparison to the fridge, but there had to be college students with better pantries. Three cans of store brand soup, a box of saltines, peanut butter, four more boxes of the exact same kind of cereal (Seriously Cas, couldn’t even go for variation, at least the eating it dry makes sense as there probably hasn’t been milk in that fridge for months), and more packages of mac and cheese and ramen than Dean cares to count.

           Food question answered. Dean will just go shopping for food. Now to look at what he has to work with for making the food. There’s the microwave and an old toaster oven that looked like it was in its prime in the 60’s on the counters. He opened the doors under the counters, no pots and pans. How about the doors up top? There are two non matching bowls, two mugs that don’t match either, and still no pans. He did manage to find a spork. Who eats soup with a spork? Oh, now this was a mission.

           The buy the things needed to cook the groceries that would be bought in order to make Cas a thank you breakfast mission. Dean vaguely remembers passing the 24 hour Wal-Mart a few blocks before he got here last night and tries to get a more solid idea of the route in his head as he fishes his keys and wallet out of his jacket, quickly shoving his feet in his boots sans socks.

           He writes a quick note saying he stepped out to grab some coffee and would be right back, just in case Cas woke up, but Dean doubted he would even move. The kitchen inventorying didn’t even cause a sniffle from the direction of the pilot, so he was either very trusting, or the heaviest sleeper this side of Sammy. Dean really hoped it was the trusting option as he used Cas’ keys to lock the apartment door behind him, and pocketed them.

 

\-   -   -   -   -

 

          Dean was rather proud of his haul, not to mention the fact that he got it all up in one load, when not even 30 minutes later saw him carefully set all of his prizes on the kitchen table, only slightly worried that Cas didn’t seem to have so much as twitched while he was gone.

          The smell of food would probably wake him. Hopefully. If he hadn’t actually died while Dean wasn’t looking. That would be an awkward conversation at the airport. He didn’t have time to check though. It was already past 5, he had to wash everything before he would cook on it, and bacon took forever to cook correctly, he had to make sure to swing by his place before he made it into work so he didn’t show up in yesterday’s clothes. He would never hear the end of it from Ruby.

          He pulled the largest of the sauté pans out from the cookware set of 18 and got to washing it, before getting the bacon started. It was probably overkill; he doubted Cas would have any idea what to do with a [fold up steamer](http://www.walmart.com/ip/23080036?wmlspartner=wmtlabs&adid=22222222227417265073&veh=sem&ci_src=328768002&ci_sku=23080036), but he had to get a pack, the man didn’t even own a spatula, and multipacks are a bit of a weakness for Dean. He moved on to a cursory washing of the 32 piece dinnerware set he had found for Cas(God if they ever opened a Costco or Sam’s Club on the island Dean would never have any money). No plates, he didn’t own a single plate, nothing matched, he didn’t even own proper silverware, it’s damn depressing. How did he eat all that ramen he had squirreled away? Of course, if the cereal was any clue maybe Dean didn’t want to know. Besides these were “[banded](http://www.walmart.com/ip/Deluxe-Essentials-32-Piece-Banded-Dinnerware-Combo-Set/21670210)” with a light blue that reminded Dean of the sky on a clear Spring day, so he thought Cas would appreciate it.

          Dean grabbed one of the tea towels out of the pack and dried everything off, putting everything but one set of plates and silverware in their new, and hopefully very obvious, homes. That would be a fun conversation. Welcome to your kitchen you seem to avoid like the plague. Now I know why you eat at Ellen’s diner every chance you can get and can be bribed with food like a 4 year old can be with candy. Here is where all of your things go.

          He fell into the rhythm of the kitchen, a calm and familiar place, making sure he saved the coffee till the very end. Since Cas didn’t own a coffee maker he had to buy the Maxwell House Instant crap, but beggars/choosers, and it wasn’t like he wasn’t going to be able to get the good shit later at work.

 

\-   -   -   -   -

 

          A soft beep slowly filtered through the haze of Cas’ dream, but it wasn’t the sound of his alarm, so he burrowed a bit and tried to go back to sleep, willing his senses to shut off again. But something was wrong. No, not wrong exactly, just off, different. He could smell something. Food?

          Figuring it was just some cruel dream hallucination he opened one eye and immediately became more confused. There were eggs and bacon on a plate on his kitchen table. And Dean. Holding toast. On another plate.

          And Dean was setting down a mug of what smelled like coffee. In a mug he had never seen before. On his table. He didn’t own bread, or eggs. So… he was still dreaming?

          He sat up slowly, trying to understand what he was seeing when his brain started to catch up, throwing memories of last night at him. _Dean’s fingers sliding under his waistband, Dean crying, saying what happened but not really telling, the smell of his body wash drifting off of Dean’s tanned lightly freckled arms. Hufflepuff._

          Nothing explained the frying pan Dean was drying off by the sink with a miniature towel. Did he steal them from some neighbor? Oh, he could just ask. Fuck, he hated mornings.

          “Dean?”

          The man in question practically jumped out of his skin, a flush spreading under his freckles, hand frozen from where it had been reaching to restlessly push the plate of toast around, like he was trying to find the perfect “toast goes here” spot on the table.

          “Oh uh, ‘morning Cas.” He was still wearing the light blue shirt and grey pajama pants Cas had loaned him. Good. The shirt was a size too small for him.

          More important, well immediate, matters first. “You made breakfast?”

          “. . .Yes.”

          Cas squinted his eyes in confusion, awake enough to remember the distinct lack of items in his kitchen, grocery and otherwise. “With what?”

          The flush deepened considerably and the tiny towel hit the floor as Dean gestured vaguely with one hand, the other rubbing the back of his head.

          “Well, uh. You didn’t have any food, so I ran to the store and got some stuff.” The nervous movement began to spread to his feet as he shifted back and forth. Cas was almost morbidly fascinated, for all he loved to fluster Dean he couldn’t remember seeing him this rattled before.

          “And also a pan. And plates. And silverware.” The shifting feet slowly took on purposeful sliding movements toward the door. “But, uh, I have work at 6 and I’m probably late, so, uh, thanks, I really appreciate everything.”

          Cas continued to stare unsure if this was really happening or if he was going to be rudely awoken by his alarm as Dean opened the door and slid through.

          “And, uh, okay, bye.”

          The door closed with a solid click, his stomach growled reminding him that the food still smelled good, and no alarm went off. He was at a complete loss, he needed help. Everyone at the airport was out, so Cas fumbled under the pillows and pulled out his phone, firing a quick text to Jimmy before he made sure Dean’s efforts didn’t go to waste.

_Dean made me breakfast and bought me groceries._

_Do I marry him?_

 

\-   -   -   -   -

 

           Down in the parking lot Dean sat in his car for the second time that morning. The last time had been so much simpler: go shopping for breakfast/kitchenware for his at this point, stupidly, ridiculous crush of epic proportions.

           God, Dean had practically ran out of the apartment. He was behaving like a girl, more than Sammy on a good day.

           Dean beat his forehead onto the steering wheel repeatedly, sure he was never going to stop blushing for the next epoch, when he realized he was still wearing Cas’ pajama pants.

           “Shit.”

           And his shirt.

           “Shit.”

           That meant he had left his clothes and jacket, fuck he really liked that jacket, back in Cas’. He’d only just left. He could go back and get -

           Oh fuck it. Who was he fucking kidding. Those clothes were gone. Lost to him. Sacrificed on the altar of ‘no we are never mentioning this again, shut up, no, never.’

           He sighed, closing his eyes, but that just brought everything else into the forefront. The smell of Cas’ laundry detergent that still clung stubbornly to his shirt, what did he marinate the clothes in it overnight before washing them? It was the same smell the pillows had.

           The flush had to reach his toes at that point, when his brain betrayed him by reminding him of what went with the smell of those stupidly squishy pillows; the feeling of waking up completely wrapped in Cas’ arms. The shirt he was wearing might have not even existed for how wide the other man’s hand had been spread along his hip and rib cage.

          And now he was going to have to go to work and look at him like nothing happened?

          “Shit.” He turned the keys in the ignition. Oh right, nothing actually _had happened_.

          “ _Shit_.” Oh, that didn’t even begin to fucking cover it.

**Author's Note:**

> It's my first Supernatural fic ever, and it will only make sense in the context of the askparadiseair AU, but I hope you enjoyed, and I hope you go follow APA to share the love.


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